


Après moi, le déluge

by Maharetchan



Series: My Care is like my Shadow [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Discovery, Disturbing Themes, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Hades and Persephone AU, Implied Cannibalism, M/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 09:28:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/810013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maharetchan/pseuds/Maharetchan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will is more than he thinks he is. Hannibal guides him through the darkness to find out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Après moi, le déluge

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Après moi, le déluge 我死以后，哪怕洪水滔天](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1488484) by [alucard1771](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alucard1771/pseuds/alucard1771)



> 1\. The title comes from the song "Apres Moi" by Regina Spektor.  
> 2\. Dedicated to the wonderfuls Abel, Anne and Sacchy.  
> 3\. My first language is not English and I don't have an English beta reader. So please excuse the grammar mistakes that you'll probably find.  
> 4\. I love comments!

"Do you ever listen?"

Will's voice is as soft as a breath, a barely audible sound in the thick silence that fills the room.

"To what, dear Will?"

Hannibal moves against him, captures his hand and gently guides it to his mouth; Will sighs when he licks his fingers, lapping away invisible blood from them, sucking on the tips.

"To them. To what they say."

To the ghosts of the dead in the dark, to the ones you take away, he thinks but does not say.

Hannibal lets out a laugh that is all quiet and condescending amusement.

"After all this time, what could they possibly say that would interest me? They beg, they cry, they bargain. It makes no difference to me. They come when I say it's time for them to come, I take them away and there is nothing, nothing, my beloved Will, not one single thing in this world that could make me change my mind. That could change their fates."

Will closes his eyes when Hannibal cups his face and kisses, lips ice cold against his.

“Their voices are... so sad.”

Hannibal caresses his hair and Will presses his forehead against his naked shoulder.

"Listening to them will drive you mad, if you are not careful."

"We have done it before, haven't we?"

Hannibal doesn't reply for a while; Will hears him take a deep breath that sound almost sad.

"We have. I'd rather not do it again."

"Some things never change."

Will tries to smile; Hannibal says nothing, his face hidden by the shadows.

 

Will knows he's dying the moment the bullet enters his body, hitting his liver: breaks the skin, smashes the tissues, makes him fall backwards against the wall.

One moment he was staring at the suspect, trying to make him surrender, the next he's down, gunshots exploding above him.

There is so much blood when he looks down; Will tries to press an hand against the wound, but knows it's useless: you don't recover from something like that.

He's not afraid of dying, instead seems to find a strange solace in the idea of finally being able to rest, to leave all this pain and misery behind himself forever; can feel his lips curl into a smile that fights against the unspeakable pain, creeping from behind the curtain of numbness caused by the blood loss.

Suddenly there is someone in front of him; Hannibal.

The man is saying something, but his brain seems to be unable to process it, to process anything that is not the feeling of the life leaving his body; but he still shivers when one of his hands finds his face, caressing his cheek, while the other presses against the hole in his side.

Leave it, he wants to say, it's not use, it doesn't matter anymore.

Will wants to look at him, but can't rise his head, it feels so heavy and his vision is starting to become blurred and confused.

"Will, I need you to look at me, do you understand?"

I can't, it's too hard, I can't do it, please, let me go, just-

Hannibal's hand grabs his face hard and suddenly he's staring right into his eyes.

"Look at me, Will."

Will does.

And sees.

For the first time he sees.

Hannibal is cloaked in shadows, his eyes are red, fiery pits ready to devour him, to swallow him whole and drag him down.

Behind him there's a wide, black hole.

Will looks.

Sees.

And remembers.

The sun was shining on his skin, the grass warm under his feet; then hard, cold hands grasped his tights, holding him still, taking him away from everything he knew.

A colorless world welcomed him when he opened his eyes again.

The smell of death and decay surrounding him, muffled screams of pain in the distance.

Red eyes stared at him.

Days that felt like months, months that felt like years and then suddenly he was splayed on the bed.

Big, strong hands coaxing something he didn't know he had inside out of him.

Hannibal's body against his, inside him, filling and breaking him.

A kiss that felt as cold as a blade against his lips, his skin, his whole being.

Blood red pomegranate seeds in his hands.

The feeling of them sliding down his throat...

Mutilated bodies on display for him, a mouth red with dripping blood, making him taste living flesh, still warm with the last shreds of what once was life.

A throne of skulls, him sitting on it, with a crows on dead, black and red roses on his head.

Hannibal next to him, smiling, grinning...

"Ah!"

Will gasps, tries to breathe despite the terrible pain, wants to touch Hannibal to know that it's real, that he is real, that this is not the last hallucination of a dying man.

Hannibal's eyes are empty mirrors of hidden fury, of sudden recognition, his hand are iron clamps on his shoulders, shake him gently and then...

And then the pain is gone; Will can breathe again.

The blood returns to flow in his vein, instead of pouring out of his body.

The world comes back to him, loud, invasive: he wants to go back to the embrace of Hannibal's silence, to it's cold finality, to a world were there's nothing but the empty peace of the end and nothing can touch him, them.

Jack is shouting something at them and Will watches mesmerized as Hannibal takes off his jacket and covers him to hide the bloodstain.

He helps Will up and holds him closer than he should with so many people around, looking at them with a mixture of worry and confusion, but he's too tired to say anything.

Everything is too loud, his mind working too fast.

He leans into Hannibal, needing to feel his touch, unable to push him away.

Will wonders if he was ever able to.

 

Hannibal takes him to his house, away from the crime scene, from everyone. Will shivers when he enters, suddenly aware of what it means, of what this place really represents for him, for them: "if you are going through Hell...".

Hannibal hasn't said anything since... since what? Since he realized who Will is? Since he saved his life and brought him back from the dead?

Will wants to break the silence somehow, feels compelled to do it, wants to ask all the questions that are plaguing his tired mind, but then Hannibal guides him upstairs gently, an hand against the small of his back.

"Take a shower, Will. Wash away the blood. Try to relax. Then... then we will talk."

The hot water turns pink as it slides down the immaculate tiles, stained by his own blood: Will cannot resist, so he cups his hands and drinks some, coppery taste spreading in his mouth, reminding him that he's alive when he should be dead, that his heart is still pumping when it should now be just a rotting piece of meat in his cold corpse.

He wonders if he should feel any different, if his body should feel any different; apparently it doesn't.

Only his mind seems to have changed, feels heavier somehow, with new memories and nightmares to plague it; the reflection in the mirror is exactly the same as it was before, as are the dark circles under his eyes, his ruffled hair, his gaunt face.

Will traces the contour of his image on the glass with his fingers.

He finds Hannibal in the bedroom, sitting on the bed, still perfectly dressed, even though he can spot blood stains on his usually perfect suit; Will looks at him, directly in the eyes, no longer afraid of eye contact.

Why should I be scared of it after all, he thinks, I know these eyes and they know me better than I know myself.

"How could I not notice, how could I... not know?"

Will only has his boxers on and the room is freezing, but he doesn't come closer, stays with his back pressed against the wall, staring at Hannibal, who takes a deep breath and then smile; he should be scared, of that smile, all malice and barely hidden evil, the smile of a predator who finally got a hold of his favorite prey.

"Your mind was protecting you. From what you are. Knowledge is dangerous in a world like ours. Especially for somebody like you."

"How could you not know?"

His accusing tone causes Hannibal to stop smiling; Will lowers his eyes.

"You seem to have acquired better and better ways to mask what you really are and pass yourself as a common human. I must admit I admire your skills greatly, Will. "

"Am I... really... Are you really..."

The words stumble in his mouth, feeling heavy and empty when they get out, absolutely meaningless and useless, the last stand of his broken world collapsing around him trying to cling to a reality that is no longer his, to fight against something that feels too impossible, too unreal to be accepted.

"It will all come back to you in time. You must not force this. Accepting who we really are can cause quiet an emotional turmoil."

Will rubs his eyes and leans even more against the wall, feeling so tired, so helpless... so...

"The dogs. Your... your dogs. They knew. Even before you knew, they did; they found me to... to protect me?!"

It's that the realization that hits him the hardest, the thought of his dogs being his silent guardians, watching over him while waiting for their master to realize too.

Both their masters.

Will feels his legs giving up under him and it's a relief when Hannibal stands up and reaches out to support him; Will puts his head on his shoulder and clings to him desperately.

"They always liked you best."

"How... you didn't... you came to my house... you... fed them."

Hannibal presses a finger against his lips.

"Sometimes... we cannot see what is right in front of us. We don't want to see it for some reasons. Maybe fear holds us back, maybe hope. Sometimes is both."

Will nods, letting out a shaky breath.

Then Hannibal kisses him.

Ah, Will thinks, yes, this is it, this is... everything.

Hannibal is cold, like he's made of stone instead of flesh, but his touches are soft, delicate, like Will is something fragile in his hands and he's afraid of breaking him if he handles his too harshly, if his fingers dig too deeply into his skin.

Will takes his face between his hands, follows its lines with the tips of his fingers, lets out a strangled moan when Hannibal starts caressing his back, mapping the skin almost is a possessive way, with a faint touch of nails.

"You brought me back. I was dying. But you brought me back."

Hannibal laughs against his open mouth.

"No, Will. I didn't bring you back."

Will is guided towards the bed and follows without resisting.

"I didn't bring you back."

Hannibal kneels in front of him, caresses his hair, gripping them and forcing Will to look at him.

"I stole you."

 

Will undresses Hannibal slowly, one item at time, with no rush; like they have all the time in the world. And we do, he thinks, we have time, things must be done properly.

It's their tradition, after all: Will uncovering his body, revealing the flesh under the fabric; I've done this before, so many times. Hannibal smiles the whole time. Doesn't touch him, but the grin on his lips is enough for Will to feel heat mounting inside his chest, coiling in his belly, making him feel almost dizzy.

When they get on the bed, Hannibal kisses him again, a hard kiss all teeth and tongue that forces his mouth to open and accept it; he tastes like ice and fear, but also of old, reassuring and familiar things.

Every touch is a memory that comes back, every kiss seems to light a bulb in his brain that shines on new secrets; Will is like clay in Hannibal's hands and all he can do is move against him, cling to his shoulders, pressing kisses against his skin, licking him to hear him chuckle.

Will remembers them being like this oh so many times in the past, wrapped in each other; remember Hannibal fucking him on a bed made of human bones, with black sheets under him and his red eyes shining in the dark room. Hannibal bites his chest right where his heart is, making him moan and trash under him. He's so hard, so hot all over, and the cold body above him is a striking contrast that adds more and more fuel to his arousal.

“Please... please...”

Hannibal coaxes his leg to spread for him, caresses his tights, kisses him just under his knee, lapping at the soft skin there, resisting the need to bite and Will feels it and wishes he... just...

Eat me whole, he thinks, but doesn't say, I want to be part of you, I want you to own me, please let me be only yours...

Lubed fingers start to open him slowly and Will scratches Hannibal's back, fingers on his neck, in his hair, desperate to just touch, to feel his skin. Behind him, Hell comes, skeletal figures dancing out of the corner of his eye, celebrating...

Celebrating what? He wants to ask, but can't because those fingers suck the air out of his lungs and leave him breathless and disheveled, unable to do anything that is not moan and beg and ask for more until his throat is sore.

Hannibal smiles at him, Will stares into his eyes and feels the caress of death on his body, its cold whisper crawling its way into his heart.

Will kisses him again and again.

Hannibal takes him slowly and it seems to last for hours, day, months, years, every trust opening him a little more and Will finds himself in every touch, in every harsh caress; every kiss opens the doors to dusty rooms of recollections from millions of past lives, from thousands different hells. 

His old life slips through his fingers, but Hannibal's body holds him still, he bites his neck to anchor him to the reality, their reality, kisses him until he can't breath. Will sobs in his arms, begs and pleads he doesn't even know what for.

Eat me eat me eat me make me yours stay with me don't leave don't... don't...

When he comes, he sees himself in Hannibal's eyes.

There's Hell behind him too.

 

Will wakes up hours later, tucked in bed like a child.

Hannibal is sitting in front of him, perfectly dressed again. In black, he thinks, all in black. Appropriate. He smiles when he sees he's awake and his teeth flash white and dangerous for a second. Will sits up and looks around, suddenly conscious of his naked body, suddenly aware that what they have done is something neither of them can forget: that there's no turning back now.

“Ah. Awake at last.”

It's still dark outside; Will wonders for how long he slept.

“I have got you some clothes, they should fit. Once you're ready, join me in my study.”

When he enters the room, there's a fire going in the fireplace and it's pleasantly warm compared to everything else; Hannibal is sitting behind his desk.

There's a tray in front of him, covered by a red cloth.

Will sits on the opposite side and waits.

“How do you feel?”

“I'm not really sure... everything is... so much. I don't... it's not easy.”

“Ah yes, the transition can be hard. I understand.”

“But also, not really, right?”

Hannibal smiles at him and Will feels strangely proud of himself, for understanding.

“Yes, I understand, but not completely. You die, you forget, then when it's time, you remember. I never die, not as you do anyway. And I never forget.”

“It's getting harder... to remember. To get myself back.”

Hannibal nods and there's an almost heartbreaking sadness in his eyes. Will wonders why, but then he takes the cloth away from the tray and he understands: there's a glass of what looks like water and next to it, a small plate.

With six pomegranate seeds.

“Is this really necessary? I mean... I've already eaten your... food.”

Will thinks the thought of it should make him feel sick and disgusted, but it doesn't.

“I'm afraid some traditions just cannot be abandoned. You need to chose, Will. It has to be done this way. If you decide to, how to put it, accept your status, accept who you are, eat the seeds. ”

“And if I don't want to?”

“Then drink from the glass.”

Will takes it in his hand and smells it: it's sweet, almost flowery; he puts it back on the tray.

“Lethe's water? How can you even get a hold of something like that here?”

“I can come and go between the worlds as I please.”

Silence falls between them and Will can't look at Hannibal, keeps staring at the objects in front of him: the shiny, red seeds and the clear liquid. One promises more pain, more nightmares, but also a blessed feeling of wholeness he has only experienced while he was in Hannibal's arms, surrounded by him, with him buried inside. The other will make him forget everything, will take him back to his old life.

“There is no rush, you know it.”

“I will forget, if I drink the water. I'll forget who you are, who I am... but you won't.”

“Like I said, I never forget. This is only for you. You can go back to your “normal” life, to being just Will Graham. Or... or you can become mine again.”

“Only for six months.”

Hannibal laughs and Will manages a smile.

“You'll always be mine. But yes, for six months you'll be... ah, especially mine. “

Will looks at him, at the gaping pit behind the man's shoulder, ready to swallow him, to annihilate him. He's not afraid of the void, he can feel it all around him too, gently caressing his face, like an old friend.

“I never drink the water. I always chose you.”

“Yes. You do. You always chose me.”

“Because you need me as much as I need you. You're not whole until you find me. And I'm not myself until I find you. You were made for me just like I was made for you.”

Hannibal doesn't reply, but his smile becomes wider.

“You are a part of me, a part I desperately miss when I find myself deprived of it. It is a torture to be away from you. But if you do chose to forget...”

“One day you'll be forced to kill me. I'll find out what you do and will not understand, I'll not see what you really are. I'll try to stop you and you'll have to kill me.”

Will hears him sigh.

“The choice is still yours.”

Will closes his eyes, breathes slowly and deeply: his old life is screaming at him, leave it all behind forget come back you're not safe either way but you'll hurt more if you stay there please please please...

The first seed is the hardest, he's almost tempted to reach for the glass to help it down: swallowing it seems to take forever, but when it's done, Will can see everything with an incredible clarity. Can see ghosts around him, whispering in his ears.

Hannibal's face is hidden by the shadow created by his own hand and all Will can see are his eyes full of flames. The other seeds follow, one by one and when he's done, Will feels as tired as after a long, long, long run.

His lungs hurt when he takes a deep breath, his body feels heavy.

Hannibal's hand is on his shoulder, then he kneels in front of him and Will collapses again against him, resting his head on his shoulder while Hannibal caresses his back.

When they kiss, Will can taste death in it, can feel it growing inside himself, carving a hole in his heart to rest there, where it can see everything and guide his every move.

He becomes death and Hannibal laughs.

And when he opens his eyes again, there's a throne of bones waiting for him.

Will sits on it and for the first time in his life, he feels at home.


End file.
